


There's an old myth...

by SandwichBandit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandwichBandit/pseuds/SandwichBandit
Summary: “There’s an old myth that if someone who truly loved and trusted the werewolf called their name it would change back into a human.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 15
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowyOwl795](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyOwl795/gifts).



> To Snowy, as they requested something based off that internet post.

She knew she wasn’t always like this: a monster, a dark shadow that lurked at the edge of the woods, the creature that parents scared their kids with. Don’t venture into the woods or it will get you. A werewolf, the villagers would scream whenever she entered the town for a meal. They should have been used to it by now, it had been going on for years.

Different locations, but the events were the same. She’d show up at near sunset, grab a fresh, free range, all organic meal, and be on her way back into the woods. The creatures would scream and put up a fight but in the end they would all become her dinner. Sometimes, the female creatures would scream and grab the smaller creature near them when they ran. Other times they would bolt off leaving them to become an easy snack. Sometimes, they’d give one a good solid shove, straight into her maul. The male ones put up a larger fight but were fun to pick off. Especially when they guarded the town with their torches and wooden weapons. Lately the weapons had gotten better rather than wooden projectiles they usually shot, they were metal and far more painful. A change in tactics was in order, sneak up behind them and tear out their throats before they would scream. It was a fun game. Murder tag. Loser was dinner, and she was queen of the game.

She didn’t always prey on the village dwellers, she did eat from the forest but that required better luck to catch the larger animals or it was more work than it was worth to hunt the smaller white or brown ones before they hopped into a hole or other small crevice. Humans just happened to be more of a convenience. Them tasting good was just an added bonus. Many moons ago she did recall of one that was her friend. A witch she had met as a kid, a lifetime ago. But what did it matter, the witch was dead having died 10 or so winters ago. It was old age… or was it sickness?

Her past life was hard to remember as the years went on, but in fleeting moments she was able to grasp onto parts of her old life as a human.

The witch warned her, while handing her the potion she requested. “-------” There it was again, a sound she couldn’t entirely recall. “You know this will only remove your memories.”

She understood the potion wouldn’t stop the unending pain that blossomed in her chest, but forgetting would mean she wouldn’t have to relieve her last conversation each night in her sleep, wondering if there was something she could have done or something she could have said to convince _her_. However, _she_ wanted something else, _someone_ else. Not her.

She would respect her decision but wanted to ask one last time. She showed up outside on her doorstep on one cold autumn night. In hindsight, she should have stayed away perhaps that’s what drove her further into _his_ arms, but she wanted to propose once more in hopes that she’d agree and run off with her. The woman told her, she _loved_ her _BUT_ she needed time to think about it. Loved her as a romantic partner or loved her as a friend? She wasn’t sure until the letter came… two weeks later.

She couldn’t be bothered to tell her in person. She didn’t care to break her heart in person. She chose him and decided to tell her in a letter. Weeks later. Heartbreak and tears followed. The fact she knew she probably wasn’t going to be _the one_ , she knew from the start, but it never stopped her from wanting, longing to be the one, for things to be different. Hopeful or more accurately, deluded, she had silver rings made, wedding bands.

The rings weren’t needed. Now they served as a reminder of things that could have been but weren’t. She hated them. They mocked her, haunted her, taunted her. She wanted to be happy for her friend and to support her, but watching them be happy wasn’t happy for her. She was obsessed about it. It affected her friendship. It wasn’t healthy for her or for them. And it had to end.

It was the reason that brought her out to the woods: rings, letters, and potion in hand. Tonight she’d set them all free. Burn the past and start anew. The potion would do its job, strip the memories of _her_ from her life, free her to pursue a new life far from this town, this hell she found herself in. The letters _she_ sent made for good kindling, the fire burned hot. All that was left was the toss in the rings to free herself from her dreams and drink the potion to embark on a journey without _her_ on her mind.

Vial against her lips, she drank and felt the magic working. Memories of _something_ were fading, yet the pain remained, just as the witch said it would. The memories were whisked away, yet the heartbreak remained.

She didn’t hear the beast approach, it was drawn in by the fire. Teeth sunk into skin, claws tore through clothes and into soft flesh, blood splattered the ground.

However in a stroke of good luck or was it bad luck she survived the encounter. A hunter managed to strike the beast with a bolt killing it. He was nearby the area, drawn in by reports of a monster lurking in the woods.

He asked if she was alright.

She said she was, for the most part.

He lingered but finally asked, “I know we just met, but would you like to join me on my adventures?”

Having nothing better to do, or so she recalled nothing of great importance, she replied and introduced herself, “Yes. I’m -------, and you are?”

“-------” he answered, kissing her hand.

She laughed, this would be a welcomed change in her life.

However, all things come to an end, and their story ended on the full moon.

The hunter had some suspicion that she might have been _afflicted_. Against better and sound judgment, he didn’t take precautions for it. The man was in love, foolishly so. Their mutual love would protect them.

He believed his love for her would save him if it came to it.

She believed he was a tasty meal. Truly unfortunate for him.

Her name died on his lips when she ripped out his throat. The werewolf was hungry and he proved to be terrible company, and incredibly mistaken about their relationship. They were traveling companions and nothing more. Her heart belonged to another, but she couldn’t recall who.

The wolf in her took her down a familiar path, one she walked down a lot as a child. The path led to a creepy cottage out in the woods, the type parents warned children to stay away from, it was the witch’s home.

The witch was outside gathering some plants when she heard a branch snap under a heavy foot or rather paw. Rather than panic, the witch stared at the beast the villagers feared. The witch held the werewolf’s gaze before sighing and dropping the sickle. “-------, what a fine mess you got yourself caught up in.” she chuckled, the plants could wait another day. The witch rose from the forest floor and walked into the cottage, completely unconcerned about turning her back to the wild beast.

The werewolf trailed behind, yet lingered outside the doorway.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in, you must be hungry.” The witch called from within the cottage, “But don’t forget to wipe your paws at the door! We aren’t all animals you know.”

The “welcome” mat was familiar, it sparked a memory.

In fact, she was the one who gave it to her after all. It read: “Go away! Unless you are a vampire, in that case, you are welcome.” Yes, Aunt Thropp had a peculiar sense of humour, and she wasn’t _really_ her aunt, they weren’t related by blood nor by marriage, but she was family nonetheless.

The beast wiped its feet before ducking under the short doorway. She was beckoned over to the hearth.

In the light of the fireplace, the witch looked her over, and by looked over, she manhandled the werewolf, pulling the much larger creature in all directions. “-------” The witch tsked, poking her in the ribs. “You are thin dear.” She wrinkled her nose, “and you smell worse than that pigsty outback.”

The werewolf snarled, baring long and sharp teeth. She was new to the entire werewolf business. At first, she thought she’d change back after the full moon was over, but that was months ago. She was tired and just wanted to be human again, or at the very least have people who understood h--.

She blinked as she recovered from the slap across her muzzle. The old witch hit her.

“Down, -------!” The witch shoved her off, apparently she leapt up on the old woman. “You know I don’t understand snarl, and she won’t either.” She growled, but the witch ignored it, grabbing her by the back of the neck and shoving her in the direction of the table. “Shut it and eat your chicken.”

It was less eating and more devouring with the sounds of bones cracking under powerful jaws being eaten along with the meat. It was a frenzied feeding of a famished beast. It wasn’t enough, and the witch knew it so she left to fetch a pig from outside. The werewolf followed her out, and rather than wait for her to kill the pig, the beast lunged on to it. Blood coated dark fur as teeth and claws ripped into a fresh meal.

The seasons came and went. Piles of red and brown leaves turned to pristine white snow, snow melted as spring brought new life and blooming flowers, and then came the warmth of summer before the cycle began anew. She was still no closer to reverting to human than the first night she came to the cottage. The witch of the woods took care of her for many years until the day came. The witch, her Aunt, died, and once again the werewolf was alone.

The witch was unable to help her return to human form, but she did confirm her suspicions, she was indeed a werewolf, afflicted to forever walk the lands as a beast. But there was _a_ tale that brought the werewolf _slight_ comfort.

**_“There’s an old myth that if someone who truly loved and trusted the werewolf called their name it would change back into a human.”_**

However, it had been many years since that fateful and cursed night, if she did have anyone like that she didn’t recall them, and they certainly wouldn’t recognize her. No one could truly love, let alone, trust a werewolf. She would stay as one, die as one. But just because she resigned that she’d die as one didn’t mean she had plans to die anytime soon. The werewolf’s stomach grumbled. She was hungry again and the local villagers did look _very_ tasty.


	2. Chapter 2

Tales of the black hellbeast haunting the woods of Mournstead brought the huntress to the area. She sat alone in a dark corner of the tavern listening to the chatter. The villages talked about how the hellbeast was divine punishment for their immorality, their sins against god. Others said it was a curse from an enraged witch. 

Regardless of the beast’s origin, it was the descriptions that caught her ear. The demon beast’s coat was pitch black, like the endless void it crawled out of. Its teeth were numerous and sharp as razors. Paws were mighty enough to shatter bones in one strike. And its mind was crafty. It eluded their traps, evaded their patrols, and picked off the weak. Strangely, the beast was illogical in some ways, it really, _really_ , hated the color red. 

It was said if you hated someone, you should pin red cloth to their backside and let the hellbeast of Mournstead drag them to hell. To be honest, it was red anything, red cloth, red painted wagons, red heads. But even armed with that knowledge, the townspeople were unable to trap it or subdue the beast. In fact, it enraged it further. The beast managed to snag one of the guards, a red head, and tore him away. When the town regrouped a search party was assembled, not to save the man, but to find the remains. The blood trail led the group to the dismembered body, which was only identified by a pocket watch. 

The huntress stood up and left, she heard enough that the so called hellbeast was probably a werewolf, a supernatural beast with insatiable bloodlust and near human intelligence. They were once human after all. They were also the creatures she hated the most. The reason why she became a huntress in the first place, revenge. A werewolf killed her… best friend? They were best friends or maybe not? 

The last fight she had with her wasn’t pleasant. Her friend showed up outside her parents’ estate and had asked for the last time for her to leave and run off with her. The future huntress replied that she did love her but also loved her suitor. In truth she wasn’t sure. No...she was lying to herself. But she ought to marry him because society and family expected it of her. 

Her friend must have caught the trace of doubt in her voice, a break in her resolve. “Why?!” she screamed, “You don’t even love him!” 

“I love you,” she answered. Her friend went silent and seemed at ease, only for her next words to break her. “But I need some time to think.”

In the end, she chose him. In the end, she was a coward. She wasn’t even able to face her best friend in person. Instead she sent a detached letter, announcing her wedding date and to twist the knife further asked her if they would remain friends. A cruel thing to ask of her friend to stay and watch her be happy with someone else. A thing she knew she’d reluctantly agree to. 

One day her husband was reading the newspaper and announced that there was an attack outside the town in the nearby woods. The future huntress’s heart rate picked up as something deep within her felt like something very bad happened. An unknown beast murdered someone. Surely she didn’t know the person but still it unnerved her. 

Her friend didn’t show up to their usually bi-weekly social party. She noticed the last time her friend seemed cold and withdrawn. She hoped she didn’t lose her as a friend, but losing her as a friend would be far better than the truth she discovered. 

Eventually, curiosity got the better of her and she decided to visit her sister’s place in another township. A curly haired brunette, who looked a lot like her older sister, answered the door. Andromeda was shocked to see her, but invited her in. “Hermione what brings you here at this hour?” she inquired, “and how is Bellatrix?”

Hermione took a sharp inhale, her nerves were getting the best of her. “That’s what I’m here to ask you about.” 

Andromeda’s brow creased in concern at her words. “No, I haven’t seen her in weeks. I thought Bellatrix might have been with you?” she said or rather asked, it was clear something bad happened. “She was supposed to meet me a few weeks ago but never showed up.”

The rest of the conversation didn’t reveal much about Bellatrix’s whereabouts. Her other sister had even less information to give. She last saw her over a month ago and the last thing she talked about was about finding a good silversmith for a small project. 

Information about Bellatrix’s disappearance was scarce. She did manage to track down one of her former servants who begrudgingly revealed that ‘Mistress Black wanted to explore the world, _alone._ ’ and said something about ‘Soul searching’.

Hermione’s mind drifted back to the newspaper entry about an attack in the woods and how she felt extremely distraught about it. Something was wrong and she wanted to go and check up on it herself. 

“Hermione,” her husband argued, “it’s dangerous out there. There’s a creature that lurks about in the woods. If it has killed before, then what stops it from killing again!”

“It’s daylight. I’ll be fine. And if you were really concerned, you’d join me!”

He grumbled and then muttered, “She’s not out there. She’s gone and it’s time you moved on.”

“She was my friend,” she meant _is._ Bellatrix _is_ her friend and she’d do anything to find her again, to know that she was safe. She turned and left the room. Nothing could stop her from adventuring into the woods to find the answers for herself.

It has been a few weeks since the attack and the report in the newspaper. The site was still a mess but the body had been removed and burned. The townspeople feared the supernatural. That the body might rise as again as the living dead, become a vampire, or something equally as wicked, and they weren’t about to risk it on remains no one knew. At the site of the attack were the remains of a bonfire pit and broken tree limbs. A few tracks in the dried mud remained from the scuffle. 

A small glint of metal caught Hermione’s eye. Stooping down to pick through the mud, her hand grasped around a small chain and with a tug unearthed the rest of the necklace. It was as she feared. It was of a silver raven skull, the one she gave to Bellatrix a decade ago, the one that never left her neck. 

Checking around the area she unearthed a very small amount of broken glass, soggy illegible remains of burnt parchment, and twin silver rings. 

Doing one last sweep she found a piece of parchment she recognized because it contained her handwriting. Bellatrix was here. She was here to get rid of things from her. And now she wasn’t around anymore. 

Hermione grasped the necklace as sobbed. Bellatrix wouldn’t have been out here if not for her. But the real thing to blame was neither Hermione’s nor Bellatrix’s, it was the beasts that prowled these woods and called them their home. If not for the werewolf, Bellatrix would still be alive. And for that reason, Hermione decided to become a huntress. Her husband didn't approve but there were few things he did approve of her unless it was to be content as the proper lady of the manor. A life she realized she never wanted far too late. A life she left far too late.

It was dark outside, the moon was full, it was the perfect night to hunt a werewolf. With luck she would rid the town of the beast tonight. She had already prepped parts of the woods with traps: wire snares, foothold traps, and even a deep spike lined pitfall trap. Yes, the last one was quite possibly dangerous to adventurous children. But if she wanted to catch the elusive and intelligent beast, she couldn’t just have a trap that screamed danger could she? It was better to die from impalement than be mauled to death by a monster.

Walking carefully in the dark, guided by the limited moonlight, Hermione checked the traps. All of them were set off, but no beast was to be found. Hermione believed the next best plan was to lure the beast out to the nearby clearing and abandoned campgrounds. She wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, but could one really hide from an animal with a superior scent of smell? The trees cast too many shadows that could hide the beast, it was best for her to remove its advantage. She did consider setting up traps near her but the beast might attack her during the process or she might need to dodge it or attempt to outrun it and it would be problematic if she was snared by her own defense. 

Tonight was going to be a rough one. She might not survive but she sure wasn’t going down without a fight.

Hermione scanned the trees looking for the slightest bit of movement and listened for the rustling of grass or the breaking of tree limbs, readying herself to fire her crossbow at anything attempting to get near her. 

Unfortunately for her, nature wasn’t working in her favor. The wind blew clouds over the sky blocking out the moonlight, casting the area into darkness. And that’s when she heard it, the howl of the werewolf amongst the rumbling of thunder. Hermione was regretting not lighting a fire, but to fix it now would require both of her hands and leave her more vulnerable to attack. Plus, it was going to rain, so it wouldn’t be that effective in the long run. If the gods favoured her, the wind might move the storm just enough where moonlight could peak through. Alas, they were not.

Rain started to downpour as something large and dark rushed on all fours from the treeline behind the huntress. Hermione quickly turned and fired off a bolt at the beast who narrowly missed it. Undeterred, it continued sprinting at her. Hermione reloaded and struck the beast in the shoulder. A large flash of lightning lit up the area temporarily blinding her. It was that moment where she lost track of it, and the next second she felt the crossbow wrenched from her hands. 

Lightning flashed behind her as illuminating the hellbeast standing roughly 5 metres away from her on its hind legs as it snapped the weapon with its powerful jaws. Hermione looked into its wild black eyes, and she moved to draw her last weapon: a silver short sword. Something was off about its eyes. They were familiar, but she couldn’t place them and didn’t have much time to think about it as the beast dropped down and bolted at her again. Hermione readied herself to impale the beast before it could lunge at her and rip into her with its razor sharp claws and teeth. 

But at the last second the huntress angled the sword away from the beast as she recalled _who_ those eyes belonged to, and she cried out her loves’ name unsure if it would even work, if the tales were true or if _she_ could even break the spell. Her voice cut through the howling of the storm as she screamed out, “BELLATRIX!” Just as claws swiped, nearly connecting with skin and teeth sharp neared a fragile throat. 

The werewolf collided with her. Rather than claws tearing her apart, calloused fingers clung to her back. Instead of blood pouring out her throat and down her chest, warm tears ran down her skin. Hermione felt the coarse hair of the beast become soft curls as she pulled the now smaller body tighter to hers, holding on to her as if she let go she’d wake up from a pleasant dream. 

A weak voice, yet still as lovely as she remembered it, uttered her name. “Hermione,” she breathed, hugging the other woman closer.

“I’ve missed you too,” Hermione relied, relieved that her nightmare was over. Her 14 year journey had come to an end. 


End file.
